


Beacon

by ExtraSteps



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, FBI Agent Stiles, M/M, Sheriff Derek, Smut, the wild hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-08-28 21:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExtraSteps/pseuds/ExtraSteps
Summary: The Wild Hunt is picking off the town on Beacon Hills, and Stiles, who works for the FBI's Supernatural Department, has been called home by his best friend Scott to help deal with it. Of course, that means that he has to work alongside the new Sheriff, Derek Hale, and Stiles' teenage crush. All the old feelings come rushing back, and Stiles has to try and deal with them at the same time as saving the residents of Beacon Hills. The question is, does Derek feel the same way?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AJP_37](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJP_37/gifts).



> This one is for Ashlee. Literally don't know what I would do without you. I fucking love you girl!!!! Happy birthday!!!!!! xxxxx

The Sheriff station held a lot of memories for Stiles. As a kid he’d always been underfoot, watching with wide eyes as deputies guided crooks past him, cuffed hands held behind their backs as they pushed them into prison cells. There had always been an overwhelming amount of noise; phones ringing, deputies interrogating witnesses, his dad barking orders, the bell of the door jangling as people walked in and out all day.  
  
Maybe that’s why it felt so jarring to be here now, to see it abandoned, empty, silent.  
  
“You okay?” Scott asked.  
  
Stiles nodded. It was weird being back here, but he had to remember that it was for a purpose.  
  
“Do we know when they all went missing?” He asked Scott, slipping into professional mode, eyes turning sharp as they flicked around the room. He took in the discarded coffee cups, the paper strewn desks, the phone hanging by its cord over the edge of a desk, slowly turning back and forth.  
  
“A week ago?” Scott shrugged. “It’s hard to say with how many people have been vanishing recently. It doesn’t help that we can’t remember who any of them are.”  
  
It was typical of the wild hunt to steal your memories as well as your loved ones, and it always irritated Stiles. Why did these bastards have to be so thorough?  
  
“Anyone left?” He asked. There must be someone. Otherwise the station would be completely empty.  
  
The bell over the door jingled and they both instinctively turned towards the noise, Stiles’ hand going straight to the gun at his belt.  
  
“Only me.”  
  
Stiles felt something in his chest tighten, and he held his breath, eyes slowly sweeping up. Black boots, laced and polished to a spotless shine. Regulation black pants, clearly ironed, not a single crease to be seen. The shirt was tight, stretched over straining muscles, badge glinting above the left pocket.  
  
As lovely an image as it was, it wasn’t the cause for the racing of his heart.  
  
No, that was the strong jaw covered in a thick layer of stubble, the plump pink lips, the hazel eyes flecked with gold. He’d always been almost unbearably attractive, and the years had been very kind.  
  
“Hello Derek,” he said.  
  
The alpha werewolf nodded, stepping into the station and closing the door behind him.  
  
“I did wonder if they would send you,” Derek said by way of greeting.  
  
He shrugged. “It was me or Raf, and I drew the short straw.” Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Scott shooting him a look but he ignored it, gaze fixed on Derek. “So, I hear congratulations are in order.”  
  
“I suppose so,” Derek agreed, one hand coming up to brush over the badge on his shirt, which read Sheriff.  
  
Stiles’ dad had retired earlier that year, deciding to hand over command to someone younger and more knowledgeable in the Supernatural. And while Stiles had understood, he’d been annoyed. Did it have to be _this_ deputy? Parrish was just as capable, and had significantly less of an impact on his pulse.  
  
“Congratulations,” Stiles said.  
  
Derek just shrugged. “Feels a bit hollow now, seeing as how I’m all out of deputies.”  
  
“Even Parrish?” Stiles asked, frowning. He could still remember him, so clearly he couldn’t have been taken, or at least he hadn’t been gone for long.  
  
“Yeah,” Derek drawled, letting his hand drop back to his side, “he’s sort of gone rogue?”  
  
“Last we saw him, he was trailing around after some Nazi high school teacher,” Scott explained helplessly.  
  
Stiles raised his eyebrows. “Why?” He asked, flabbergasted.  
  
“If I knew the answer to that, I’d have him back,” Derek scowled. “The only thing I have to go on is that his flames are tinged with green now.”  
  
Tilting his head to the side, Stiles considered this. Green? What would turn a hellhounds flames green?  
  
“It started when we captured one of the Ghost Riders,” Scott explained. “Parrish could communicate with it, but then he said something to Parrish and he started letting him out of the cage.”  
  
“Wait, you caught a Ghost Rider?” Stiles asked, eyes wide. “You didn’t tell me that.”  
  
“It’s dead,” Derek said flatly. “Our resident serial killer ate its pineal gland.”  
  
“Hauptmann,” Scott agreed with a scowl.  
  
Stiles reeled. “Jesus, it’s been a rollercoaster around here,” he complained. “Why didn’t you guys call me in sooner?”  
  
Derek gave him an unimpressed look. “We were handling it.”  
  
“Clearly,” Stiles said sarcastically, gesturing to the empty room.  
  
“Low blow Stiles,” Scott whispered as Derek’s jaw clenched. He felt a twinge of guilt, maybe that was going a bit far.  
  
“Sorry,” he muttered reluctantly.  
  
Derek waved him off. “We need to figure this out before we literally don’t have a town to stand in anymore. At last count, there were less than a hundred people left in Beacon Hills. We’re running out of time.”  
  
“Who’s left from the pack?” Stiles asked.  
  
“I don’t really remember how big it used to be,” Scott admitted, his shoulders drooping. “But we have Liam, Mason, Malia, and Lydia.”  
  
“And Theo,” Derek pointed out.  
  
Scott bit his lip. “Right,” he agreed dubiously. “Theo as well.”  
  
“You guys are gonna let me out soon, right?” A disembodied voice called.  
  
“Nah,” Derek called back.  
  
Stiles’ eyebrows raised. “Was that… Was that Theo?”  
  
“Yep,” Scott said.  
  
“And he’s been there this whole time?” Stiles asked incredulously.  
  
Scott smirked. “Yep.”  
  
“You’ve locked up one of your pack members?” Stiles clarified. The voice had definitely come from the holding cells. “You do realise how counterproductive that is, right?”  
  
“Wasn’t that long ago that he killed me,” Scott pointed out. “And he hasn’t exactly proven himself trustworthy since.”  
  
“I have literally saved your baby beta’s life like a million times,” Theo yelled.  
  
“That’s just because you want to be his boyfriend,” Scott yelled back. That seemed to shut him up, and Scott smirked, crossing his arms. Stiles just rolled his eyes.  
  
“Can we get back to the whole point of being here now?” He asked him, unimpressed.  
  
“Sure,” Scott agreed. “How do we stop the Wild Hunt?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted. “The Wild Hunt has been gathering souls for centuries.”  
  
Derek scowled. “So what? We just leave?”  
  
“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” he sighed. “I just mean that there isn’t exactly a manual about this stuff. We’re flying blind.”  
  
Derek gave him an irritated look, and stalked off towards the holding cells. Scott followed him, and Stiles closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself. _Werewolves can smell your emotions_ , he reminded himself. _Keep it together Stilinski._  
  
The first time he’d seen Derek Hale, he’d been a brooding teenager, sitting on one of the uncomfortable chairs in front of his dad’s office, staring down at his hands. Stiles had always been a people watcher and he’d been captured by the array of emotions that fluttered over the other boys face. Anger. Grief. Despair. Guilt. All conveyed by the clenching of his jaw, the twitch of his eyebrows, the slumped shoulders.  
  
He’d learned, later, about the fire and Kate Argent, and Derek’s role in it all and it had all made sense. Derek felt responsible.  
  
Stiles hadn’t seen him for a long time after that, but he’d wondered every now and again how he was doing.  
  
The crush had started when Deputy Hale had joined the Beacon Hills Police Department, fresh out of the academy and tailing the Sheriff around everywhere, learning the job with a determination that Stiles had admired. He’d also admired the chiseled jaw, the muscular arms, the pert round ass. Stiles had spent a lot more time at the police station after Derek joined, a fact that never ceased to amuse his dad.  
  
Derek had always kindly but firmly shut down Stiles’ attempts at flirting with him, not that it had ever stopped him. He’d wanted Derek so badly that he’d burned with it. No one else had even existed as far as his libido was concerned.  
  
Stiles opened his eyes, heart clenching in his chest.  
  
Steeling himself, he followed Scott and Derek to the holding cells to interrogate Theo, who apparently knew a lot more than he’d been letting on. But the whole time, Stiles was watching Derek, considering.  
  
Would he have a chance now that he wasn’t a pimply faced teenager and the boss’ son?


	2. Chapter 2

In the years that Stiles had been gone, Scott had apparently been going around saving a whole bunch of teenagers by giving them the bite and training them up. They were pretty cute, if a little naive, but Stiles wasn’t so far out of high school that he didn’t remember what it was like.  
  
But still, the way Liam and Theo (who was reluctantly let out of the holding cell by Derek) argued and flirted and punched each other was compelling to watch. Stiles wanted to pull out some popcorn and just enjoy the show, maybe lay down some bets on how long it would take until they were fucking.  
  
“Stop it,” Derek said, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the two boys.  
  
“What?” Stiles smirked. “They’re adorable.”  
  
In the background he could hear Theo spluttering and Liam cursing, and it only made him grin wider. Mentally, he placed his bet; less than a week and they’d be screwing like rabbits.  
  
“They’re annoying little shits,” Derek complained. “And a distraction. We need to save the town.”  
  
Stiles brushed Derek’s hand from his arm, smiling at him.  
  
“It’s young love,” he said, batting his eyelashes at him. “There’s always time for that.”  
  
Derek shot him a scowl and brushed past him, leading the way out of the station, leaving Scott to deal with his puppies.  
  
“Alright, alright,” Stiles said, speeding up to fall in beside him. “What’s the plan Sheriff Hale?”  
  
“Don’t call me that,” Derek shot back, scowl deepening.  
  
Stiles felt his lips stretch into a grin. “Why not?” He asked.  
  
Derek flushed slightly, and Stiles leaned in eagerly for his response. “I dunno, it doesn’t sound right when you say it.”  
  
“And how do I say it, Sheriff Hale?” He purred.  
  
“Like it’s something dirty,” Derek admitted after a moment, looking away.  
  
Stiles chuckled. “Well maybe it is,” he said. “I like seeing you like this, in your uniform with your shiny badge, that tight uniform. If you want, I’ll let you use those handcuffs-”  
  
“Stiles,” Derek hissed. His cheeks were getting pinker and his scowl so deep that he nearly had a unibrow. Sadly, he was still into it. Angry, growly Derek was hot as fuck. “That’s enough.”  
  
“If you want me to stop, officer, you’ll have to use the safe word,” Stiles said with a lurid wink, stepping closer. Maybe this was bordering on sexual harassment, but Derek had never outright asked him to stop, just explained that he was far too young, and the son of his boss.  
  
And he didn’t look disinterested right now. Instead, his hazel eyes flicked to Stiles’ lips and lingered, before he turned away with a sigh.  
  
“Stop flirting,” he instructed, shutting down - compartmentalising, Stiles realised. “We have more important things to do right now.”  
  
He hated it when Derek did that, just pushed away whatever he was feeling. This was Beacon Hills. There would never be the perfect time. There would always be the next big bad looming on the horizon.  
  
Derek got into his truck, effectively ended the conversation and Stiles sighed. Not a complete loss, but not exactly encouraging either. At least Derek hadn’t said he was too young this time.  
  
***  
  
“Right,” Stiles said, running a hand through his hair as he thought, “so Scott and the others are trying to open the rift by remembering Kira?”  
  
“Yep,” Derek said, turning onto the main road.  
  
“And we’re trying to find this Hauptmann guy?” Stiles asked, turning to look at him.  
  
“Apparently,” Derek muttered. “Theo seemed to think that he was the key to all this.”  
  
“I thought you didn’t trust Theo,” Stiles pointed out. Derek rolled his eyes.  
  
“I don’t, he killed Scott and turned the whole pack against each other. It was a bad time,” Derek explained, fingers tightening on the wheel. “He used Liam as a weapon and pointed him right at Scott.”  
  
He shook his head, scowl in place once more. Idly, Stiles noted the wrinkles on his forehead. They were far deeper than the ones around his mouth. He clearly frowned a lot more than he smiled, and he felt a pang in his chest. That was all he wanted, to bring some laughter and happiness into Derek’s life. The stupid sourwolf just had to let him.  
  
“Liam seems to have forgiven him,” Stiles said quietly.  
  
Derek sighed. “Yeah well, he’s young, and Theo’s attractive.”  
  
Stiles’ lip quirked up at that. “Very attractive,” he agreed. He stayed quiet for a moment, weighing his words. “Do you think you might be a little more angry with yourself? For not seeing it coming?”  
  
The look that Derek shot him could melt steel, but thankfully only lasted for a moment, Derek’s shoulders slumping. “You really know how to cut to the heart of an issue, don’t you?” He complained.  
  
“What’s the point in dancing around it?” Stiles said with a shrug. “I’ve always preferred the direct approach.”  
  
“Don’t I know it,” Derek muttered under his breath. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, turning it off.  
  
Stiles smirked.  
  
“You loved it,” he said, voice going all low and raspy. He knew it affected Derek, and sure enough the other man shuddered, shooting him a baleful look. But Stiles didn’t plan on giving him any mercy. Derek had made him wait a long, long time.  
  
When Derek didn’t reply, he scooted closer, placing a hand on his thigh. Derek looked down at it, chewing on his lower lip. Idly, Stiles wondered what Derek would smell like if he had those wolfy senses. Lust? Fear? Excitement?  
  
He decided to throw in a joke, see how Derek would react. Leaning in, his lips brushed Derek’s ear. He felt the shiver and smiled. “I’ve been a bad, bad boy officer. Now you have to… punish me.”  
  
Derek got out of the truck, chest heaving with laughter, tears running from his eyes. Stiles watched him, a fond, yet calculating smile on his face. He’d made Derek laugh. He was one step closer to Stiles’ bed, even if he didn’t realise it yet.  
  
***  
  
“This is the last place he was seen,” Derek said, leading him into the bunker. Stiles walked around, examining the cage, the broken line of mountain ash which still smelt like ash, and the dark smear of blood that covered the floor.  
  
“He ate the pineal gland, you said?” Stiles asked, glancing at Derek.  
  
Derek nodded. “He’s a serial killer. The town has been plagued for weeks with these murders, and now we know it’s him. No idea why though.” The look of disgust on Derek’s face made Stiles smile.  
  
“It’s to do with the soul,” Stiles informed him. “Some people believe that it’s the centre of your power, what makes you you.”  
  
Derek wrinkled up his nose. “So he steals power by eating it?”  
  
“He’s a 70 year old nazi werelion,” Stiles shrugged. “Clearly he has a few screws loose.”  
  
“True,” Derek conceded.  
  
They walk back out, Stiles taking a deep breath of the fresh air. He hadn’t realised how dank it smelled in that tiny room until he was back outside.  
  
“So,” he said conversationally. “We’re looking for a crazy serial killer who also happens to be a werelion and a nazi, who now has the powers of a ghost rider to boot.”  
  
“That about sums it up yes,” Derek nodded.  
  
“Well fuck,” he sighed.  
  
***  
  
They made their way back to Derek’s truck but Stiles didn’t get in just yet, just looking up at the sky. With the limited powers his spark gave him, he could feel how empty the town was. It didn’t feel like there was much time left, and he genuinely didn’t know if they could win this one.  
  
That decided him.  
  
He turned towards Derek, who was studying him with dark, knowing eyes. They’d both known that this was inevitable from the second that Stiles walked into the station. They were written in the stars.  
  
Stiles couldn’t say who it was that closed the distance between them first, but suddenly there were fingers in hair, lips meeting hungrily, moans filling the air as Stiles pushed Derek back against the truck, pinning him in place.  
  
He wasn’t letting Derek go. Not this time.


	3. Chapter 3

“Stiles,” Derek whispered. He sounded wrecked, and he pulled back from kissing him, shivering at the burning intensity in his hazel eyes. Even as a teenager, he’d known that kissing Derek would be like this; all-consuming and passionate. It was all or nothing with him, but Stiles had never flinched from that. They were cut from the same cloth.  
  
“What is it?” He asked. He was going to be so pissed if Derek fobbed him off with another half-assed excuse.  
  
“Shouldn’t we take this somewhere a little more private?” Derek asked, glancing around them.  
  
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Derek, the town is literally empty right now. I think we’re fine.”  
  
“Right,” Derek said, though he still looked uncertain. Stiles pressed against him once more, Derek’s warmth seeping into him immediately. He kissed his cheek, down his jaw, nudging his face aside to kiss his neck and nip at the pulse he could feel racing against his lips.  
  
“Do you really want me to stop?” He asked in a sultry tone, nibbling his way up to his ear.  
  
“No,” Derek admitted.  
  
“Good,” Stiles crooned, and he bit down hard on Derek’s neck, sucking in a bruise that would disappear almost before he finished it. Derek gave a needy moan, pulling him impossibly closer, hips bucking into his. Stiles almost purred. He had Derek right where he wanted him.  
  
Until he didn’t, Derek grabbing his arms and flipping their positions so that Stiles was the one now pressed against the truck, freezing in place as Derek slowly dragged fangs up the column of his neck.  
  
“Fuck,” he whispered, shivering and craning his neck, offering up more of his pale white skin to Derek’s lips and teeth and tongue. It was like every wet dream he’d had about Derek was being realised, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hard, all of the blood in his body rushing south.  
  
Unnaturally bright blue eyes studied him as Derek tilted his chin up. Stiles stared back at him, chest heaving. Derek looked hesitant, almost like he expected him to run away, but he had never flinched from the fact that Derek was a werewolf.  
  
He brought a hand up, gently caressing Derek’s cheek, feeling the coarse hair that covered it, bringing just a fingertip down to brush over Derek’s lower lip, tracing his fang.  
  
“You’re beautiful,” he said honestly. “It’s never mattered to me that you weren’t completely human.”  
  
“I know,” Derek said, voice quiet. “But I’m a born wolf Stiles. I don’t-” He trailed off, taking a deep breath, and Stiles cupped his cheek again, giving him silent encouragement. “This isn’t just a one time thing, for me,” he eventually confessed.  
  
“Sourwolf,” Stiles said, smirking at him. “You’ve been it for me from day one. You know that.”  
  
Derek still looked conflicted. “You’re so young-”  
  
Stiles held a hand up, cutting him off. “I am young,” he agreed. “But I was in love with you when I was just a dumb kid, I was in love with you when I was a gangly awkward teenager, and now, as a man, I love you still. I’m not going anywhere, Derek.”  
  
It finally seemed like he was getting through to him. “You love me?” Derek asked, sounding awed.  
  
His lips quirked up. “Fangs and all,” he quipped.  
  
And then they were done with talking, apparently, Derek lifting him up and walking him around to the bed of his truck, yanking down the tailgate and setting him down on it. He didn’t go far though, pushing his thighs apart so that he could stand between his legs, kissing his breath away. Stiles wrapped around him with an enthusiastic moan, kissing him back just as eagerly. He couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t kiss him deep enough. It wasn’t enough, none of it. He needed more. Needed Derek naked and thrusting inside of him, filling him up. Maybe then this would seem real.  
  
“Derek,” he groaned as the other man started kissing his neck again, sucking a possessive hickey right over his racing pulse. “Need you.” His hands tugged insistently at where the shirt of Derek’s crisp, neat standard-issue uniform was tucked into his pants. Derek growled against his neck, making his knees weak, and he leaned back slightly, just enough to get his hands between them, awkwardly unbuttoning his shirt.  
  
The buttons were fiddly, but he persevered. Finally, he got the last one undone and pushed the fabric apart, pressing a hand on Derek’s chest so that he stumbled back half a step, and Stiles could look.  
  
He bit on his lower lip, swallowing down an undignified moan. Derek’s chest was sculpted from marble and just as hard. Stiles ran his hands over it in wonder, mouth watering at the dark curls that spread across his pecs and then lead down.  
  
“Oh mama,” he whispered reverently, “I’ve died and gone to heaven.”  
  
“Not yet you haven’t,” Derek smirked, pulling his shirt off the rest of the way and discarding it, moving back to take his mouth in a hard, possessive kiss. Stiles grabbed his powerful arms, moaning against Derek’s lips. There was no doubt in Stiles’ mind that Derek could throw him around like a sack of potatoes, and knowledge like that just _did_ something to a man.  
  
His hands fell to Derek’s belt, sliding it off and throwing it aside, but before he could touch the zipper of his pants, Derek grabbed his wrists.  
  
“You first,” he purred, releasing him so that he could grab Stiles’ tie, expertly untying it and pulling it clear. Stiles could see the idea forming in his mind as Derek ran the black silk through his fingers.  
  
“Don’t you dare,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You are not tying me up.”  
  
“Next time,” he agreed, already letting it fall to the ground at his feet. Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. There would be a next time, and then a next and a next. The whole rest of their lives, hopefully. If they managed to survive the latest crisis. But he couldn’t think about that now, not when Derek’s fingers were fumbling down his chest, undoing each button, slowly opening his shirt and then guiding it down his arms.  
  
He was nowhere near as built as Derek, but he worked out. He had to, to be part of the FBI. He was deceptively strong, but the way Derek’s hands slowly moved down his chest to grip his hips made him feel weak.  
  
Derek drank him in, eyes lingering on a scar on his shoulder. “What’s this from?” He asked curiously.  
  
“Chimera,” Stiles said, “specifically a wendigo.”  
  
Derek winced in sympathy. “Ouch.”  
  
“Very ouch,” Stiles agreed, flashing back and remembering how the wendigo had snuck up behind him, teeth slicing into the flesh of his shoulder. “It took weeks to heal.” Weeks that he’d spent stupidly trying to hide it from his colleagues. It hadn’t ended as badly as it could have, but his supervisor had still given him cause to regret it.  
  
He nodded, accepting that there was more to the story but thankfully letting it go. Instead, his eyes moved further down, taking in the fuzz of hair on his chest, fingers tightening on his hips as he stared. Stiles was starting to feel self-conscious, but Derek looked back up at him, hunger burning in his eyes. He kissed him again, hard, before kissing his way down his neck, his chest, nipping at his nipple and then laving it with his tongue, doing it again when Stiles moaned his name.  
  
His fingers flew into Derek’s hair as he sucked around the bud, worrying at it with his teeth. He’d always been sensitive there and the sensation went directly to his cock, causing it to leak in his pants. Derek smirked, pressing open mouthed kisses across to the other one, giving it the same treatment, holding his gaze as he bit down, not quite hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to leave a mark.  
  
“Fuck,” Stiles whimpered, bucking his hips uselessly, but he couldn’t do anything, being held completely still by the strong hands holding him still.  
  
Derek just smirked wider, holding his gaze as he sunk between his legs, mouth hovering just above one hip. Stiles felt his heart flutter, his head being thrown back a second later as Derek bit down. He cursed loudly, panting at the way Derek licked over the imprint of his teeth on his pale skin.  
  
His fingers clenched in Derek’s hair as he gave him a matching bite on the other hip, soothing it with his tongue. Stiles looked down, panting lightly, still half sure he was dreaming. But his wet dreams about Derek touching him had been so much less satisfying than the real thing.  
  
Derek met his gaze as he leaned forwards, rubbing his cheek over the front of his pants, nosing along the bulge that was doing its best to escape the confines of his tight black pants. It jumped as Derek licked over the head through the fabric, and Stiles bit down on his lip again.  
  
“Stop that,” Derek scolded, eyes flashing. “I want to hear you.”  
  
Stiles released his lip, licking along it and Derek’s eyes darkened, fixated on his tongue. His own tongue poked out from his lips again, pressing against the head of his cock, and Stiles whimpered. Derek smirked, and then his hands were attacking his belt, expertly opening it and unbuttoning his pants, pulling Stiles forward so that he could tug his pants down his thighs and with them his boxer briefs as well. His cock sprang free, bobbing in the cool night air, arched towards his stomach.  
  
Derek hummed his appreciation as he looked at it; the thick round head poking out from the foreskin, his slightly thinner but long shaft curving slightly to the left, and his round heavy balls.  
  
The longer he studied it, the more impatient Stiles grew. Why wasn’t he touching him? He tugged at Derek's hair, trying to get him closer but Derek didn’t budge. He looked up at him slowly, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, slowly leaning in and licking over the tip. Stiles breathed his name, his thighs shaking as Derek’s lips stretched around his head, gently sucking on it, tongue circling. The combination made him buck up into the hot, wet cavern of Derek’s mouth, begging him for more.  
  
Derek pulled off, licking his lips as he looked up at him. “You taste so fucking good, Stiles,” he said, voice gravelly with lust. It sent another spurt of precome leaking from his cock, and Derek licked it up with a growl, eyes flashing blue. Much to Stiles’ dismay, he pulled back, panting as he looked up at him, fangs pressing into his lip.  
  
It sent a thrill through him, that Derek was losing his iron-tight grip on his control around him, although he did appreciate that he was conscious of keeping his sharp fangs away from his cock.  
  
Once he’d fought back his control, Derek’s hands slid up his thighs, gripping him as he slowly stood up, holding Stiles up like he weighed nothing. He shivered, hands falling to Derek’s shoulders to balance himself.  
  
“What are you doing?” He asked weakly.  
  
“Something I’ve wanted to do for a long time,” Derek grinned. And then he was turning Stiles over and pushing him up onto all fours on top of the bed of his enormous truck. Before Stiles could say a word, a hand came down on the round cheek of his ass in a hard slap and he squawked in surprise, instinctively trying to get away.  
  
Derek’s other hand gripped his hip, pulling him back, rubbing over the burning flesh. It felt good, and Stiles sighed, pressing back into it.  
  
“Mmm beautiful,” Derek murmured. Just as Stiles was starting to relax into the soft touches, Derek slapped the other cheek as well. He cried out, and again Derek soothed the sting with his hand.  
  
“Fuck,” Stiles whispered, bringing his head down to rest on the cool metal of the truck’s bed. Prolonged spanking wasn’t really his jam, but the way Derek was touching him, rubbing and massaging his cheeks, spreading him open to the night air definitely was. He arched his back invitingly, eager for more.  
  
He shivered as Derek leaned down, hot breath whispering over his skin. The anticipation made Stiles writhe impatiently.  
  
Just as he was about to beg Derek to do something, anything, the scruff of Derek’s beard rasped over his tender flesh, sending a shiver up his spine. He rubbed over Stiles’ skin, inflaming it even more, nipping at the imprints of his hands on his ass. Stiles could feel his cock leaking onto the truck below him, and he clenched his hands into fists.  
  
“Derek,” he pleaded.  
  
He felt more than heard Derek chuckle. “So impatient,” he said in a low, seductive voice.  
  
“Yes,” Stiles said, turning slightly to shoot him an indignant look. “Years you’ve kept me waiting, Derek Hale. Actual years.”  
  
“True,” Derek conceded. “I think we’re both done waiting.”  
  
“Thank god,” Stiles muttered.  
  
Derek left him there, fingers trailing over his skin as he walked around to the passenger side of the truck, opening the door and rummaging through the glove box. He pulled out a packet of lube and Stiles felt relief flood his chest. Derek wasn’t backing out. Derek wanted him.  
  
The door shut with a thud and Derek moved to stand at the end of his truck, contemplating Stiles, turning the packet over and over in his hands.  
  
“Scoot up,” he instructed in a low voice. “I want you on all fours.”  
  
Stiles scrambled to obey, shivering a little at the raw lust in Derek’s voice. He was exposed like this, up on the bed of Derek’s pickup truck, which looked like it cost more than Stiles’ entire yearly salary. He could almost picture Derek stepping out of it in the middle of the day in his tight uniform, slowly pulling off a pair of aviators and giving his most charming smile. Swoon…  
  
He splayed his legs at the thought, pushing his ass up and lowering his front half in complete submission, offering himself to Derek.  
  
The truck dipped as Derek jumped up to join him. Stiles could hear the rustle of fabric and went to turn and look, but he was stopped by a large hand between his shoulder blades holding him down. He groaned in frustration, trying to wriggle away but Derek was far too strong. Didn’t he understand how badly Stiles needed to see him?  
  
“Later, I promise,” Derek said. He bent over him, his warmth along his back making Stiles tremble, kissing his shoulder, up his neck, before turning Stiles’ head enough that they could awkwardly kiss.  
  
He could feel Derek’s cock resting against his ass, big and heavy and he squirmed, pressing back against it, only to be pinned down harder by Derek’s body, completely unable to move.  
  
“Derek,” he complained with an impatient whine, but the other man didn’t budge.  
  
“So needy,” Derek whispered hotly in his ear, nipping at it. “So desperate for me, aren’t you Stiles? Why don’t you tell me how badly you want my cock?”  
  
“Fuck,” Stiles whispered. The way Derek was teasing him, giving a little only to pull back, manhandling him, pinning him down, was all turning him into a ball of mindless need. He was far past wanting Derek’s cock. Now, it was as necessary as his next breath.  
  
But he wouldn’t be Stiles if he didn’t open his big fat mouth.  
  
“Such a big truck, Derek,” he goaded, “sure you’re not compensating for something?”  
  
Derek chuckled. “You’ll have to tell me,” he purred.  
  
And then he thrust a finger inside of him. Stiles almost choked on a moan, squirming in place.  
  
Thankfully, Derek seemed to be just as impatient as he was, going slow enough to make it feel good but not so slow that Stiles was going to die of old age before the main event. Normally, he loved this part, lounging against the pillows while his partner slowly opened him up, but he was far too impatient for that now. He needed Derek inside of him five years ago.  
  
The second finger soon joined the first, and then the third, and Stiles was biting down against his arm, trying to hold back his desperate pleas. He should have known that Derek wouldn’t allow it.  
  
His fingers withdrew and were replaced by the tip of Derek’s cock, rubbing against him teasingly. He had Stiles trapped with his body, unable to move at all while Derek nipped at his neck, sucking bruises into his skin and nuzzling them with his beard, pulling away every time Stiles managed to move.  
  
Stiles took a shaky breath. He was so close to the moment he’d been dreaming of for what felt like his entire life. Everything was about to change.  
  
“Please,” he breathed, unable to keep the whine from his voice.  
  
There was a huff of laughter at his neck. “No,” Derek said.  
  
Before Stiles could protest he was picked up, Derek rolling underneath him and placing him in his lap, his mouth capturing his own and swallowing down his surprised squeak. He wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, rising up on his knees. They moved in tandem, Derek helping to guide his cock to Stiles’ hole, stealing his moan as well as he sunk down, inch by inch, his ass stretching around his significant girth.  
  
Stiles went still, ass clenching tight around Derek’s cock. It felt like a baton inside of him, long and thick and hard, and he whimpered into Derek’s mouth.  
  
“Still think I’m over-compensating?” Derek teased, pulling away to nip at his lip.  
  
“Fuck no,” Stiles wheezed.  
  
Derek laughed, his hands on his hips helping him to move, rising up and then back down in a deliciously slow glide that had Stiles’ mouth going slack with pleasure, his head tilting back as he stared unseeingly up at the stars. Derek took full advantage, returning to his neck, breathing him in, pressing soft kisses to his racing pulse.  
  
They moved as one, Derek thrusting up to meet him, Stiles sinking down, both of them moaning at how fucking perfect it felt. Stiles’ hands moved into Derek’s hair, holding him close, trembling as Derek’s hands started to rove his body, his moans turning desperate.  
  
He clutched at his ass, bucking up harder, and Stiles saw stars as he picked up the pace. He couldn’t move fast or hard enough to please either of them like this and he grunted his frustration, moaning instead when Derek held him still, arching up into him with supernatural speed, manhandling him down onto his cock again and again, his teeth worrying at his neck until all he could do was hang on and moan his name, begging him for more.  
  
Once again, Derek picked up him, slipping out from inside him as he turned Stiles around and plastering him over the top of his truck. Grabbing his hips, he slid home again, covering him with his body as he fucked into him even harder. Stiles reached down awkwardly with one hand, wrapping it around the base of his cock. At this angle, Derek was hammering against his prostate, and the burn of pleasure was spreading already, making his toes curl. He wanted it to last. If this was the end of the fucking world, they were going off with a bang.  
  
“So fucking perfect,” Derek snarled against his neck, biting and holding him still and helpless, cock pistoning inside of him. Stiles moaned his agreement. Sweat was pouring off him in waves, the heat of Derek’s best against his back making him overheat, but he couldn’t care less that his hair was probably plastered to his forehead. All he cared about was that Derek was finally fucking him, finally giving him what he needed, and he encouraged him with loud moans of his name, pressing back into his thrusts and welcoming him in deeper.  
  
Derek reached around his body, knocking away his hand and replacing it with his own, but instead of holding back his orgasm he actively encouraged it, pumping his cock in his fist. Stiles couldn’t hold on under the assault, his toes curling as he panted Derek’s name, come pulsing from his cock and coating Derek’s hand.  
  
He clenched hard around Derek’s cock as he came, and Derek growled, fucking him harder, chasing his own pleasure and coming only a few thrusts later. Stiles could feel his cock pulsing inside of him, filling him up and he sighed in contentment, cheek resting against the cool metal underneath him, eyes drifting shut as he basked in the delicious ache of a good, hard fuck.  
  
“You alright there, Stiles?” Derek asked, kissing his shoulder, easing his cock out of his ass.  
  
Stiles hummed his agreement, giving a sleepy protest as Derek picked him up, cradling him to his chest as he jumped down onto the ground. He nuzzled into his neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex, feeling happier than he could ever remember being.  
  
Derek opened the passenger door and deposited him inside, helping him to pull on his clothes. He opened his eyes, watching with a soft smile as Derek did the same.  
  
When Derek got back into the driver’s side, he looked across at him, eyes fond.  
  
“Love you,” Stiles murmured, leaning forward for a kiss, thrilled when Derek met him halfway and kissed him, cradling his face in his hands.  
  
“I love you, Stiles,” Derek whispered against his lips.  
  
They took the moment, trading soft kisses, reassuring touches. One moment for them.  
  
“Let’s go save the fucking world,” Stiles said with a sigh, pulling away.  
  
Derek gave a nod, turning away. “Let’s do it,” he said grimly.  
  
***  
  
It had been a near thing, in the end. The Ghost Riders had taken nearly all of them, in the end, but as reality had bent between the two worlds it had been easier to pop in and out between the two. They’d rescued Kira, fought against Hauptmann and had managed to prevent the train from stealing the souls of Beacon Hills.  
  
The Ghost Riders had taken Hauptmann with them, and they’d stood there in the preserve, the fog clearing as the train tracks slowly disappeared right in front of them.  
  
It was then that Peter had turned to look at them, giving them an assessing look. “Could it not have waited?” He snarked. Scott smirked, while Malia wrinkled her nose and Theo rolled his eyes.  
  
Derek looked at Stiles. “No,” he said, giving him a soft smile that made his heart skip a beat. “It was time.”  
  
“Yeah,” Stiles said, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. But he was pleased, really. Derek was right, it had been a long time coming.  
  
The pack started to peel off, leaving them facing each other, the preserve slowly coming to life around them as the threat lifted.  
  
“Come on,” Derek said, holding out a hand. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
